“The body keeps the score. If the memory of trauma is encoded in the viscera, in heartbreaking and gut-wrenching sensations, then our first priority is to help people ‘feel’ what their bodies are telling them.” ~Bessel van der Kolk
I used to think my body was a liar. Because how can something that’s supposed to be wise also be so dramatic?
Why did my stomach sink before a coffee date?
Why did I feel like I was going to vomit before a Zoom call?
Why did I freeze before taking a step toward the exact thing I said I wanted?
I used to think all of that meant something was wrong with me. Or maybe I was just anxious. Or overthinking. Or making it up. Pick a label.
But now I know better.
My body wasn’t lying. It just didn’t have the language to explain what it was holding.
I didn’t grow up learning how to listen to my body. I grew up learning how to ignore it. Override it. Be good. Smile. Sit still. Don’t cry. Don’t be dramatic.
So I did what I was taught. I disconnected from it.
Even when I started “healing,” I did it with my mind. Journaling. Talking. Thinking. More thinking. Manifesting. Mindset work. All in the head. Still ignoring the body that never stopped trying to talk to me.
At first, it felt like it was working. I felt empowered. I could reframe my thoughts, set intentions, and write affirmations. But it was like taping over a warning light in my car; I wasn’t addressing the deeper signal underneath. My body kept breaking through. Subtle at first, then louder.
And I truly believed I was doing it right.
If I could just write the perfect affirmation, process the trigger, and map it back to childhood, then I’d feel better. Right? But it never really lasted. Not until I stopped trying to fix it all with my brain and actually felt what was happening in my body.
The signs were subtle at first. A little tightness in my chest. A sudden drop in energy. A weird tension in my jaw that came out of nowhere.
Other times, it would scream. Fatigue. Rage. Anxiety. Autoimmune flare-ups. But I didn’t know how to translate any of it.
Because no one teaches you that a shutdown isn’t laziness. That canceling plans doesn’t mean you’re flaky. That dread isn’t always fear; sometimes it’s your body flagging something misaligned before your brain catches up.
I thought I was broken.
But I wasn’t. I was just trying to live from the neck up.
And I don’t think this is just my story. I think many of us were raised in systems, schools, families, and even spiritual spaces that rewarded intellect and punished emotion. We’re praised for being rational, calm, and logical. And that’s great until you realize you’ve spent your whole life bypassing your own body to meet other people’s expectations.
Now, I understand something that sounds ridiculous unless you’ve lived it: Sometimes, your body knows the truth before your mind can explain it.
And sometimes, your body responds to fear that’s not even yours.
I’ve had moments where I walked into a room and felt like I couldn’t breathe, not because anything bad was happening, but because something just felt off, like the air got heavier, like something in me tensed up before I had a chance to make sense of it.
That’s not logic. That’s not trauma speaking every time.
Sometimes, that’s intuition.
Other times, I’ve mistaken shutdowns for signs.
I said I wanted to show up. I meant it. But every time I got close to putting myself out there with my nonprofit, with my writing, my body would tank. Exhaustion. Brain fog. Fatigue. I’d tell myself, “Maybe this is a sign I’m not ready.” But the truth? It was just fear. Fear of being seen. Fear of being misunderstood. Fear of being rejected.
My body wasn’t trying to stop me. It was trying to protect me. That’s the nuance no one talks about.
Your body is wise, but it’s not always right.
Sometimes it’s responding to a past version of you.
Sometimes it’s responding to someone else’s energy.
Sometimes it’s responding to a thought that isn’t even yours.
But it’s still trying to help in the only way it knows how. And that matters.
There were times when I canceled something exciting, like a podcast interview or a speaking engagement, because I felt sick. Nauseous. Shaky. I thought, “This must be a sign it’s not aligned.” But often, it was just fear. Fear pretending to be intuition.
That’s when I realized: I needed to stop asking, “Is this true?” and start asking, “What’s this from?”
I had to learn the difference between fear and instinct.
For me, fear shows up fast. It’s hot. Tight. Loud. It tries to rush me.
Instinct feels slower. Grounded. Even when it says “no,” it comes through calm, not chaotic.
It wasn’t a switch I flipped. It was a process of remembering. Of noticing patterns. Of asking gentler questions.
And there was a moment that shifted everything.
I was sitting on the floor of my bedroom, crying without a clear reason. Nothing dramatic had happened that day. But my chest was tight. My head was spinning. I had that familiar urge to “figure it out.”
Instead, I just sat. I stopped trying to analyze it. I stopped trying to fix it.
I put one hand on my heart and the other on my belly. I breathed. And I said out loud, “I’m here. I’m listening.”
It sounds small, but it felt like something in me softened. My body didn’t need me to understand; it needed me to be with it.
Since then, that’s been my practice. Not trying to always decode my body like a puzzle. Just making space for what’s happening, even when it’s messy.
I don’t believe there’s one way to “tune in.” No method saved me. No protocol healed me. What helped was slowing down long enough to notice.
Breathing. Listening. Learning the difference between intuition and avoidance. Between truth and trigger. Between safety and comfort.
If you’ve ever felt like your body was unreliable or like it was working against you, you’re not alone. Most of us were never taught how to interpret its language. And that doesn’t mean we’re broken. It means we’re learning a new skill, one that most people never even knew they needed.
That’s not something you get from a course. That’s something you get from being in your body long enough to tell when it’s reacting and when it’s remembering.
It’s why somatic therapy and polyvagal theory are gaining traction. Not because they’re trendy but because they give us a language for what so many have always felt: that the body holds on. That healing.
It isn’t just about mindset. That regulation doesn’t come from logic; it comes from safety.
Books like The Body Keeps the Score opened that door for me. But living it? That’s where it finally clicked.
I don’t have a neat bow to end this with.
But I can tell you this: Your body isn’t broken. It’s not stupid. And it’s not trying to sabotage you. It just doesn’t speak in words.
And when you start listening—really listening—you stop needing so many answers.
Because sometimes the answer isn’t “figure it out.”
It’s: “Feel what’s actually happening.”
And that’s enough.
About Danielle Aime
Danielle Aime is the founder of Remeria, a nonprofit supporting deep emotional healing through body-based and spiritual tools. Find Raw reflections on marriage, motherhood, healing, faith, and the universe that keeps pulling us toward who we’re becoming on her Substack here.
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